


By Moonlight Met

by nekonexus



Category: Saiyuki Gaiden
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:28:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekonexus/pseuds/nekonexus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tenpou is not, by nature, a man of poetry. A moonlit sight makes him wish he were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Moonlight Met

Tenpou was not, by nature, a man given to poetry. Oh, he'd read enough of it, surely, to turn a phrase when needed. He had a vast store of them memorized, often obscure enough that no one would recognize it. (Save perhaps Kenren. Somehow, Kenren always knew when he was quoting.)

But tonight, watching moonlight glide and dance across the edges of Goujun's scales, he wished he was. He wished he had words - his own, not borrowed - to describe the sparkle and glint without resorting to someone else's story of a jewel, or a fish. He wished he had words to create, to hold, this scene in his mind. To paint like finest calligraphy, not in his own shameful, shoddy hand-writing. (This was no scene for a ballpoint pen.)

Moonlight on horns, on scales, on skin so pale it was something other than white, and yet not translucent. Not see-through by any means. Glowing, as if from within. As if the water itself had caught the moon and was washing it --

No, no, not that at all.

He was so terribly inept at this.

Goujun turned, then. His gaze found Tenpou in the shadows of the garden as easily as if he stood on the open shore by daylight.

(Better, that. Perhaps he was improving.)

Silent, inscrutable.

Cipher. Enigma. Symbol.

Dragon King.

Goujun raised one hand, offering Tenpou ... not a pearl, no. His imagination ran ahead, was reined in, and scampered back. A sea sponge. Pale yellow, and yet dark against Goujun's skin.

He beckoned, once, and Tenpou moved forward, shedding clothes sloppily, thoughtlessly, as he walked. Sandals, tabi, trousers. Jacket, tie, shirt.

Naked and ugly and pink, he trembled on the shore, wishing again for words.

Goujun took his hand. Pressed the sponge into it, and turned away.

Moonlight flashed along his horns; danced along his skin.

Abandoning pretense of words, of poetry, of logic, Tenpou dipped the sponge in the cool, clear water, and raised it, streaming, to Goujun's shoulder.


End file.
